yesterday came a knock at the door—a faint, tentative knock as from childish knuckles—and i went to see who it was. a queer little figure stood outside in the twilight—a dainty compendium of skirt and cape and frothy white frills—and a small elfish face looked up into mine through shimmering of hair, like love in a mist.

“if you please,” she said, “zyp’s dead and will you take care of poor zyp’s child?”

then at that moment the hard agony of my life broke its walls in a blessed convulsion of weeping, and i caught the little wanderer to my heart and carried her within doors.

“and so poor zyp is dead?” said i.

“yes,” answered the elfin; “and, please, will you give me back to her some day?”

“before god’s throne,” i whispered, “i will deliver up my trust; and that in such wise that from his mercy some little of the light of love may, perhaps, shine upon me also.”

that night i put my signature to the last page of the narrative here unfolded.